


Bada Vroom

by RobinTrigue



Category: NXT, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, Road Trip, The secondhand embarassment-filled buddyfic you never knew you needed, remember when fur-covered cars were an actual thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/pseuds/RobinTrigue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cass is so busy flirting, he doesn't notice when his best bro gets left behind at a show. Now Enzo's only way home is on Baron Corbin's bike. Good thing Enzo and Baron have such similar, compatible personalities, right? This will be fiiiiine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bada Vroom

“Hey it’s a Friday night, you wanna hit the town when we get back Cass? ...Cass?” Enzo ducks out of locker and looks around. There’s no one there.

“Fans aren’t allowed back here,” says a tired-sounding janitor who shuffles past, leaning on her mop heavily.

“Hey I ain’t no fan, how you doin, I’m Enzo freakin Amore,” says Enzo with an exaggerated shrug to hide his concern. Why is there no one there? Cass shoulda waited for him; sure, Enzo does take a little longer in the showers than most because of the different parts of his hair needing different conditioning treatments, and he isn’t really expected to go outside without his lemon-scented beard oil – the humidity would make the ends split!

The janitor shrugs. Everyone around here was dressed weird today, and they all replied with weird catchphrases when you ask them to move out of the way. Just another day in the life.

“Exit’s that way, Mr Kinamore.”

Enzo’s chest puffs a few times in reply before he realises if she hadn’t heard of him already after all the hullabaloo of the show, he probably won’t make an impression now. Also, it’s getting late and he really wants a nap.

“Err... Thanks, Janice.” Her nametag says Janice. At least one of them has to get a name right.

“Just make sure the door shuts behind you.”

* * *

  The sky outside’s gone orange with the start of the sunset; it’s still just as warm and humid, but the bugs are louder and the air smells deceptively fresh. The only sounds besides the omnipresent Florida crickets are chirping frogs and distant airplanes overhead.

Yep, definitely no bus full of noisy wrestlers.

“Damnit!” Enzo drops his leopard print purse and kicks at the curb in a sort of angry jig. He digs in his pocket for his phone.

“Big Cass here, leave a message after the beep!”

“Damnit Cass, pick up the phone so I can yell at ya, you shoulda held the bus! What kinduva-” Enzo lets loose for a good three minutes, being free and creative with the similes that might describe the sort of friend who lets his best bro miss the company bus back to Tampa. He could’ve gone longer, but he spots Baron Corbin staring at him from his motorcycle and something about his stony silence makes Enzo want to be more discreet, even from across the parking lot. He hangs up without finishing his current description (to do with unicycling, a largemouth bass, and the invention of lycra), and is relieved to hear Tyler Breeze exiting the stadium after him. Another person who understands the importance of decent haircare!

“Tyler!” he says, trying not to sound grateful. Tyler would probably be a lot nicer to him if he _did_ sound grateful, the vain prettyboy, but Enzo Amore doesn’t fawn. “Tyler, looks like we missed the bus, huh?”

Tyler looks down at him with a sneer. “I don’t take the _bus_ ,” he says. “God, like I’d be caught dead with all those sweaty animals? I have a Muber waiting. That’s like Uber, but it’s for models only so no one has to be stuck with uggos the whole way.”

Yeah, maybe Enzo isn’t so happy to see Tyler after all. No wonder his name is Breeze when he’s got the personality of a fart.

He stands there a moment, at a loss. Cass still isn’t picking up his phone, and there isn’t much point calling anyone else since they’ll all be on the bus too. A taxi would take ages to pick him up this far out in the boonies, and his delicate skin is sensitive to mosquito bites, nothing sawft about that, just biology, how you doin. Bayley hadn’t come tonight, but she’s visiting her family in California so the only thing she could to if Enzo called her would be to educate him on the finer points of summoning wild horses to him and using his gentle soul to tame them into carrying him home or some Disney princess shit.

Baron’s motorcycle roars to life, and Enzo looks up to see it scooting to a stop before him.

“You don’t have a ride.” It didn’t sound like a question.

Enzo’s eyes widen. He isn’t sure if he’s ever heard Baron Corbin speak before. His voice is surprisingly soft. He grabs his lapels and moves into a fighting stance a little, jutting out his hips for extra manliness. He’s still a stud even if he’s talking to an undefeated giant on a huge motorcycle and he’s a five footer who missed the bus.

No, seriously, has Baron Corbin spoken at all since he signed? In the locker rooms even? Enzo’s always pictured him as the strong and silent type, but _really_ silent.

He’ll have to ask Cass tomorrow, once he’s finished fighting off a dozen alligators and swum across the state to get back home, cos that’s the lot Enzo’s been dealt in life apparently.

“Yeah, my tag team partner’s meant to wait for me, but he seems to have gone.”

“The tall one?” Enzo feels a burst of secondhand pride that this big dude still gotta refer to his Cass as the tall one. Hell yeah, ya can’t teach that.

“Yeah, how you doin.”

“He seemed pretty caught up with the new diva who goes to the ring with you.”

This time, Enzo does finish the insult about the bass, the unicycle, and the lycra. Baron watches him without changing his expression.

When he’s finished, Baron says “you’re stuck.” His voice carries surprisingly well over the thrum of the motorcycle engine.

Enzo runs a hand through his hair, pacing a little cos he still hasn’t figured this one out. “Yeah, I mean, I coulda made ‘em turn back a bit ago but it’s gonna be too late now, and it’s not like I’m gonna get a car out here before dark...” He slams a fist into his hand as a revelation strikes him. “I know! Janice!”

Baron doesn’t react, but in a surprised kind of way this time. Probably.

“The janitor, inside – I’ll go back in, and ask if she has a car, and – no, she prob’ly lives nearby, better ask if I can stay the night –”

Enzo runs to the doors, tugging on them several times until it becomes painfully obvious that they only open from the inside. He turns around. “Rats.”

Baron releases the clutch on his motorcycle and drives into the parking lot, which, yeah alright, it wasn’t like Enzo was too much of a social magnet right now. Too bad certified G doesn’t mean certified MacGyver; he’ll just have to wait here and pay whatever exorbitant fee it takes to get a cab to take him all the way back to his apartment in the middle of a Friday night. But it then becomes clear that Baron was actually driving his bike in a circle, turning it so Enzo now faced the side with a sidecar attached.

Enzo looks at the black duffle bag in the sidecar, then up at Baron’s expectant face. “Oh hell no, I ain’t some chicharoo-”

Baron looks away from Enzo, and Enzo couldna put words to his silence if you’d given him a million bucks and a thesaurus, but it does get him to look around the rest of the lot. Tyler Breeze is driving off in some garish stretch limo that seemed to be covered in fur. The Ascension are still standing silently next to the back of their SUV. Enzo shuddered. There’s something weird going on with those two. They’d always been mean as hell, but it’s like they’re sacrificing goats now or somethin. Alexa Bliss swore she’d heard them chanting in Latin last Thursday.

And of course the sun is still getting lower in the sky. As if to prove a point, a vulture circles overhead.

Enzo throws up his hands in frustration. “Alright, alright, you don’t gotta insist so hard!”

* * *

Soon they’re roaring down the highway, Enzo scrunched low with his leopard purse taking up most of the footwell and Baron’s huge duffle bag on his lap. He still hasn’t been able to engage Baron in conversation and he’s pretty sure he looks like an idiot all smooshed up like this with his knees up by his ears practically.

“Cass, you’re gonna get a real talkin to for abandoning your genuine bro just to talk to a chick,” he muttered to himself, the engine and the wind drowning out his voice before he could hear himself. Man, it’s hard making yourself heard over the sound of traffic. Why would anyone _choose_ this form of transportation?

“So NXT, it’s a pretty good gig, yeah? What didja do before this?” Enzo shouts over the din. Baron must hear, Enzo’s pretty sure he sees Baron’s eyes flick over at him, but instead of answering the engine revs louder, blocking out all other noises for about a mile.

Right. Not much of a talker. Luckily Enzo’s good at filling silences.

“I mean I think it’s pretty great, nice gym and all, hot babes – they all want me,” he assures Baron, “but I don’t mess with co-workers, no matter how hot they are. Unless they’re really hot, in which case, I make an exception, ya feel me?”

Silence.

“Anyway, all these sweet boys, I dunno what they think they’re about, thinking they’re in the same league as Cass and me, we oughta sign up for the New York ballet for all the cheecharoos who keep tryin’a go toe to toe with us. The Vaudevillains, they’re like marshmallows they’re so sweet and sawft, how you doin. Ain’t one of those haters can even hold a candle to Cass and me’s thousand watt bulb.”

He’s gonna be so hoarse tomorrow he might as well sign up for the Kentucky Derby, but oh well. Enzo pauses for a moment to wipe some bugs off his helmet visor.

“Hey, how come’s I got to wear this helmet like some kinda scuba diver and you ain’t wearin nothing? I just gelled my hair and everything!”

Baron’s hair streams out behind him in the wind. It isn’t cold exactly, but the air is still pretty biting whenever Enzo brings his face or hands up from the safety of the sidecar’s walls; Baron’s bare arms didn’t seem to be affected in any way.

Baron narrows his eyes slightly in a way that might express, in another man, a sentiment potentially along the lines of “I am the alpha wolf, with the muscles of a bear and the reflexes of a cougar; my cool tattoos alone are enough to protect me from anything so mundane as a traffic collision.” Who knows though.

“Alright, whatever,” says Enzo, trying not to seem spooked. It’s not like Cass is a mile a minute with his gab, right? “So, ah, yeah. Anyway, certified G, I don’t take any man _ure_ from none of these lil wanna-Gs. ‘Ooh, I done ten years on the indie circuit,’ well if you’re so great then why’ve you gotta play games just to win a match against me? It’s cos I’m a stud and they ain’t and I don’t play checkers or monopoly, I could kick anyone’s ass on the whole roster, how you doin.”

Still silence. Maybe Enzo isn’t talking loud enough?

“I mean, ah, not calling you sawft or nothing. You’re alright, you know, I could still take ya any day of the week but you’re not a fainting violet like Bo Dallas or pushing daisies like Alex Riley.” Enzo’s weak laugh is lost to the wind. “I mean that end of days thing’s a bit of alright, you should show me how to do it sometime. I’d show you about being real but ya can’t teach that.”

Baron does turn his head slightly this time. “I would, but you’d have to grow nine inches first,” he replies.

An eighteen-wheeler passes them, the roar conveniently drowning out Enzo’s loud, indignant swearing.

* * *

The sun’s been set for an hour now, and it’s a pretty boring drive; just the wind, the full moon and the open road, and when has that ever been of interest to anyone? Enzo’s back is starting to cramp and he’s pretty sure holding Baron’s bag this long is gonna mess with the nap of his velours leopard print leggings. They’ve been on this highway for so long that he’s even lost interest in counting how many alligators they pass on the side of the road, something his nine-year-old New Jersey self would never have believed if you’d told him. If this was a _car_ , he’d turn on the radio, but since it’s a motorcycle, Enzo’s just had to keep on talking. Well, shouting.

Trouble is, Enzo just isn’t sure what to talk about. Baron’s just been staring straight ahead the whole time, like he’s alone on the bike, isn’t even complimenting Enzo’s witticisms or joining in on his excellent metaphors or nothin. Why, it’s almost as though Baron doesn’t want him here! But that’s just ludicrous, who doesn’t love Enzo Amore?

So he goes through a full account of his thoughts on everyone in the roster, then all the trainers, then sports news, a list of his favourite songs, what he feels makes the best breakfast, his arguments with Cass over what makes the best breakfast, how he knows Carmella (“greatest hairdresser in the industry, hands down; it was a tragedy what happened to that dog, a freak accident. You want your hair done as good as mine, go to Mella.”), the ten cutest things his dog has done that month, until he winds up tentatively back at the subject of Baron himself.

“You’ve been makin’ quite a stir around here, undefeated guy, how long you reckon you’re gonna keep it up?”

Crickets.

“Hey man, don’t worry about this fight you have coming up against Bull. He’s a big guy but come on, he’s got loose cheeks.”

At long, long last, Baron reacts to something. He reacts by acting puzzled.

“Loose cheeks?”

“Yeah, every time he talks I hear bowel movements, he needs to wipe the crap off his lips, how you doin.”

Baron doesn’t say anything. Maybe Enzo _is_ annoying him, unlikely though that may seem. Maybe he shoulda gone with Cass’s line about the tacos.

“So uh, you wanna hear me list all the presidents in order?”

* * *

 Another hour later and they’ve gotta be close to Tampa by now because Enzo’s run out of things to talk about. On the bus he’d let others talk over him and take a nap on Cass’s shoulder, but he can’t very well do that here with his eyes being blasted with the headlights of every bit of oncoming traffic they passed.

Cass and Mella are probably cuddled up all nice and warm on that bus. Not that there’s anything wrong with Cass getting himself a nice girl to smooch or anything, so long as he remembers from now on that Enzo comes first in every respect. You think you know a guy...

The silence is about twenty minutes old when Enzo needs to break it and it’s awkward. This is why it’s better to not have a silence.

“Uh, Baron, I think I’m feelin the call of nature, do you read me?” Enzo peers around the luggage that’s pressing into his bladder now. “I uh, I dunno if you wanna... pull over or somethin...”

To his great relief, Baron clicks on his indicator and they pull over to the side of the road. Enzo stumbles as he climbs out of the sidecar, landing on his ass just a little because his legs apparently fell asleep. He rubs at them for just a minute before staggering to the nearest tree and unzipping his fly.

While he takes care of business, he notices Baron wandering further into the trees, the bright moonlight silhouetting him in silver. Is it weird that he dresses the same out of ring as he does in ring? Enzo’s all about being fashionable during his entrances, but Baron’s out here at night wearing only a sleeveless leather jacket? It’s not real cold like you get up in Jersey but it’s still night air and surely having cool wolf clothes doesn’t make all the way up for being chilly?

Then, with his back to Enzo, Baron raises his arms by his sides and _howls_.

Enzo hightails it back to the bike, helmet on, bags gathered up, ready to go. He doesn’t say a word between Baron returning from his weird-ass moonlight nature walk and being dropped off at Full Sail.

“Thanks for the ride, man. See you round the gym or something.” Enzo nervously clutches his bag to his chest. Baron nods once and then drives off. Enzo doesn’t fully exhale until his taillights are out of sight.

* * *

“It was spooky as hell, Cass. Like he was a werewolf or something.”

“Sure sounds weird, Zo.” They’re sitting on bits of equipment at the gym the next Monday, talking in whispers because Baron showed up halfway through their conversation and is lifting weights on the far side of the room.

“And he didn’t say a word the whole time?”

“I think I annoyed him, Cass.”

“What? How could anyone in their right mind be annoyed by you? You’re like the Shakespeare of smack talk!”

“I know, I know! Way I speak, it’s practically an art form!” Enzo’s scratchy whisper stops completely as Baron passes them on his way to the vending machines.

Cass slaps Zo on the chest conversationally. “Hey, I’m sorry I left ya high and dry like that buddy, that wasn’t cool of me.”

“Damn right it wasn’t cool of ya, chasin tail when your best bro’s stranded in the middle of nowhere!” Cass’s crestfallen face was too much to bear for more than a second or too, so Enzo reaches out to scruffle his hair. “Aw, I forgive you. Mella is hot as hell, I’m happy for ya, big guy!”

“Thanks Zo. Mella’s really somethin, she-”

Baron’s standing right next to the leg press machine Enzo’s perched on. Silently, he puts a chilled bottle of water by his designer Jordans, turns, and walks back to his barbells drinking from a second bottle.

Both members of the tag team are stunned for a moment.

“Zo... I think he likes you?”

Enzo swallows weakly. Baron’s eyes pass over the two of them, and he snaps open the cap of the water bottle, raising it with a ‘thanks dude’ smile. He takes a sip and Baron looks away without reacting.

“I think that was friendship water, Zo. I think he’s trying to reach out to you or something.”

“No... no, I’m telling you, he didn’t even smile at my jokes.”

They both look down at the water bottle blankly.

“Maybe werewolves don’t laugh at jokes?” Cass suggests.

“Yeah... Maybe...” Enzo shrugs, takes another drink, and gets back to his leg presses. Cass does the same.

Who is he to get spooked by dumb shit like werewolves anyway? He’s Enzo freakin Amore, realest guy in the room! He can totally handle a friendship with anyone, even if they make poor vehicular choices.

“HEY BARON! THANKS FOR THE WATER!” he shouts, over the perplexed heads of Blake and Murphy.

Baron doesn’t react, and a grinning Enzo pats himself on the shoulder. Bada boom.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and welcome to my headcanon that sweet wolfaboo baby Baron Corbin is actually super socially awkward and considers anyone a best friend if they have physically been in his presence for longer than the 30 seconds it takes to get his paycheck.
> 
> I hope Enzo's voice is alright, it's my first time writing him (or any of them)! Please let me know if you see any errors or things I could do to improve this. I just love the NXT kids so much.


End file.
